Tear Stained Letters
by LSMunch
Summary: This was the end of his childhood, the jungle of transition into adulthood that he had fought through. Lifting the first one from the pile, he noted the date, the worn paper, the water stains that had made the ink run a bit.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Not mine. Although some characters I do claim, as they are mine.

A/N: Some explanation for those of you who might not have read my other fic Collide. In Collide, I had part of Munch's history being that he served in Vietnam. He had been drafted at 18 or 19 before going to college. Later, I found out that Munch, when he filled out his draft card, filed himself as a concientious objector, therefore avoiding being drafted, in a way. So, basically, this isn't canon. Just sort of a warning.

* * *

He threw up the door and listened to the muffled bang as it hit the floor. Climbing up the last of the ladder rungs, he hoisted himself up to sit on the dusty attic floor. _Geting up here sure is a hell of a lot more difficult than it used to be_, he thought. Looking around, he spotted the single bare bulb hanging from the low ceiling. Standing up, he was careful not to bump his head as he pulled the chain. Unshaded light flooded the attic, showing more spider webs than he cared to count, and a few spiders which did an eight leg scurry into the nearest shadows. Boxes piled on top of each other, covered with dust made up a large percentage of the items surrounding him. There were a few other things. Toys his mother had never gotten rid of. Old, mostly broken furniture that had found a new home in the dark and dust. An old record player he hadn't seen since... well, in a long time.

Sighing, he realized that his task was larger than he had first thought. Moving a couple lighter boxes, he found an old milk crate filled with old newspapers. He dumped those out as neatly as he could and turned the crate upside down, sitting on its bottom. _Now, to sort through as many boxes as I can before dying of dust inhalation_, he thought with a wry smile. His mother really was a pack rat.

An hour later, he had gone through two boxes, mostly filled with old books that were falling apart. Still, he found his job strangely captivating. He was sifting through his childhood, and the lives of his parents. Their memories, some he shared, but most that he didn't. Children rarely know what their parents are truly like, what they were like before they met, how they met, why they fell in love. They only know the basics, like the jobs their parents hold, what they're like when they're angry, happy, sad. Everything else is a mystery covered with the cloth of the past.

Shaking his head and glancing at his watch, he pulled another box towards him. This one, strangely enough, was marked. All the other boxes were anonymous entities, their contents unknown until someone opened them up. This one, however, had the word 'letters' scrawled across it. He recognized the scrawl as his own, somewhat untidy handwriting. Lifting the flaps, he was met with neatly stacked piles of folded papers, some in envelopes, others bare. He knew what these were. He had written more than half of them. This was his past now. This was the end of his childhood, the jungle of transition into adulthood that he had fought through. Lifting the first one from the pile, he noted the date, the worn paper, the water stains that had made the ink run a bit.

Tear stains.


	2. Letter 1

A/N: So the first letter. Just a litte note, there is not a letter every day, but I do have them in order of when they were written, not received. Keep that in mind. Also, as this goes on, there will be some things I'll explain that are mentioned in the letters. Most likely those will be placed at the end of such a chapter. Anyways, enjoy!

* * *

"I'm looking forward gretly to your first letter, so I'll be particularly happy to get settled in one place or the other as soon as possible. I can already feel the kids growing up in my absence and can visualize the type of trouble you may be having with them." -Major Robert B. MacKenzie

* * *

Mom,

Got here yesterday afternoon. The flight wasn't bad, and I sat next to another guy from the Baltimore area. We talked for a while, but as the trip wore on, everyone on the plane grew quiet. I suppose they were thinking about what it was all going to be like when we finally arrived in Vietnam. I know I was. There were a couple of guys who had already done a tour of duty and were coming back for more. Marines, they were.

Once we landed, they sorted through us and loaded us into keeps. It seems like Klaiman (the man from Baltimore) and I are to be in the same unit. From what we've talked about, he seems like a good man and hopefully it won't be as bad as it might be without him. One never knows though. However, they loaded us into jeeps, most of us were grouped together in a convoy comprised of six jeeps and four supply trucks. The jeeps took us to a large field, where we were told to wait. Turns out we spent the night there, no tents above us, just the sky, in which the more than occasional helicopter flew over us.

This morning we woke to find ourselves and our gear slightly damp from dew. A sergeant came by and handed out our assignments, telling us to group with others to were going to our areas. As I've already mentioned, Klaiman and I are in the same unit. We were the only two going to our area. Another jeep picked us up and the two of us travelled in another convoy down many dirt roads to another American camp. The lieutenant seated in the front of our jeep was nervous the entire trip, gripping his M-16 as if his life depended on it, which now I suppose it does, what with being in a country where anything might happen at any time, good or bad. This trip took noticeably longer than the first, seeing as the camp was close to twenty miles away. Not to worry though, we arrived with no mishaps and no contact with the North Vietnamese whatsoever.

When we finally reached the camp, we were pointed to a large tent. The unit was out in the jungle when we arrived so we found a couple empty bunks and threw our bags down and had a seat. Again, we didn't talk much, nerves seeming to have bested us. By the time the unit returned, it was nearing dinner and Klaiman and I had been wondering over the location of the mess tent. Before either of us could ask, and before any of the returning men could ask who we were, guess who I spotted? David! Seems that after just a few short weeks, he had already established himself in the group, which meant that I had an "in", so to speak. He quickly introduced me to all the guys and together we went to the mess tent.

Now, sitting here writing, I'm fully able to ponder over the incredible luck of being in David's unit. There must be hundreds of units, thousands of men... The sheer coincidence and luck at this event is truly amazing. Somehow I think, know rather, that David will be a much larger asset in this whole ordeal than I had previously thought Klaiman would, though I don't abandon the belief that he and I will be good friends.

I must leave now, seeing as it's time for some shut-eye, but hopefully I'll write tomorrow, Friday at the latest. I've included the address you can use to write me below.

Your loving son,

John


	3. Letter 2

"... writing a letter home ... sealing the letter ... looking at the letter, knowing how much it will be appreciated by our faimlies ... thinking of home ..." -Anonymous

* * *

Mom,

Sorry for not writing yesterday. They kept us busy all Thrusday filling sandbags to stack around certain areas. (Those areas will be used as bunkers if the NVA ever launch a mortar attack or something of the like against us.) Yesterday, we were told at breakfast we would be going out on patrol. I know I speak for Stanley (that's Klaiman) when I say that we were both scared out of our minds, nervous as all get out. However, DAvid has taken us both under his wing, showing us what we should take and telling us what and what not to do while on patrol.

Choppers flew us out and we walked through rice paddies for the better part of the day. Before it got dark, the choppers came back and picked us up at the LZ (landing zone). When we finally returned to camp, I was too exhausted to even write. I had about enough energy to eat dinner, and then I fell asleep.

Today, they sent us on another patrol, though thankfully it was shorter than yesterday's. Upon returning, I forced myself to write, fearing you would worry if I didn't.

Anyway, enough of those things. I take it everything is going well at home? Please tell Bernie I plan to write him as soon as I have a spare moment. Also, tell him that if he doesn't get going on his English book, I'll write to his teacher. I haven't had mail from either of you yet, but that's understandable, seeing as I've only been in country for four days. I do hope you have been writing, though. Most of the men here come to rely on correspondences with their families and with girlfriends and the like, and I expect that I'm already beginning to rely on it. Please, tell me what the daily going-ons are at home. No politics, no anti-war protests. I just want to be home, and since I can't be, let me know what I would be doing if I were home.

Your loving son,

John

* * *

A/N: NVA- North Vietnamese Army 


	4. Letter 3

"... be good, be safe, remember I love you." -Sgt Charlie B. Dickey

* * *

Johnny,

I'm glad to hear you are doing well. Everything at home is the same as you left it. I told Bernie what you said. I'm sorry to say he didn't take it well, but I suspect he'll get over it soon enough. Seeing David and being with him is amazing and I'm happy you two are together, even when you're so far away from the rest of us.

Yesterday, Mrs. Greylock and I went out for a pleasant lunch. She asked after you, and it made me extremely happy to say you were getting along well. She also seemed happy to hear it. Afterwards, we talked for a while, about things I'm sure would bore you. When I mentioned it to Bernie later, he rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath. There are times lately when I think that brother of yours is not turning out quite like you, dear. I believe not having you around is affecting him in ways he hadn't thought it would. Perhaps you should write him soon. Heaven knows what he'll do next. Today, he came home with a bloody nose and split lip. He wouldn't tell me why he got into a fight, but maybe if you ask he'll tell you. If you're to be gone for a year, I think you should start writing soon, as he is already getting himself in trouble.

I won't lie to you, Johnny, I'm worried. About you and David and all those other boys over there. The things they show on the evening news aren't exactly encouraging. Please, promise me you'll be careful. I'd like to see you come home in a year, the fit young man I sent off. I'm afraid to think too far into the future, but it can't be helped at times. There are so many bad things happening these days, and I know you don't have any choice in the matter but to serve in this war, but it worries me to no end. I don't know what Bernie and I will do if you don't come home.

Promise me you'll come home?

Love,

Mom


	5. Letter 4

"Give your mother a big hug and kiss for me and remember you are the man of the house while I'm away. I know you are helping your mother and making things easier for her. You must do this because she has an awful lot on her mind and a lot of work to do to see that things run smooth. Remember me and all the others over here in your prayers at night and ask Him to help people see the folly of all this fighting and bickering that goes on in this troubled world. Above all I want you to know that I'm proud that I have a chance to do my part to make all of these things available to you. Again I'm proud you're my son! Don't let me down. Tell your teacher and all your friends hello for me. I miss you but soon we'll be together again. The time will pass soon." - CS1 James C Kline

* * *

Bernie,

I'm sorry I haven't been able to write to you sooner. They've been riding us hard over here. According to rumors among the camp, the colonel is worried that the NVA (North Vietnamese Army) is going to attack us, seeing as they haven't in a couple weeks and he feels that we're long overdue. Preparations are being made, most of which that I am involved with being the filling of sandbags for refortifying bunkers. I've already been on five patrols, after little more than a week with my unit. Stanely Klaiman,a man I travelled with on the plane over here, is also from Baltiomre and once we arrived here, we discovered that we're replacements in the same unit. The other men don't talk much about the guys we replaced, but I suppose they have their reasons.

Mom mentioned in her last letter that you got in a fight. I'm surprised at you. Last time I checked, I was the slightly oversensitive, prone-to-fight one. The only time you've ever gotten into a fight is when a boy at school mentioned something about Dad. Is that what it was this time? I don't know if you noticed, but Mom is worried about your behavior. She said that maybe, with me being over here and all, you're not handling yourself as well as you'd hoped. Well, let me tell you something, I'm coming home in a year. One year. And I'll be coming home in one piece. You and Mom will pick me up at the airport and we'll all go home. I know you've never liked the way that I sometimes "baby" you or act like a father towards you, but Bernie, I only do it so that you'll grow up into someone you, along with everyone else, can be proud of. I'm sorry if it ever felt otherwise.

Anyway, time for dinner and I wouldn't want to miss the slop they give us, so I'll say goodbye for now. And remember, Mom will tell me if you haven't been doing well in school. Ask Jack if you need any help. He told me he'd look after you.

Love,

John

P.S. Watch after Mom for me, and don't get into anymore fights. It breaks her heart to see you like that.

* * *

A/N: Just a reminder, John's father committed suicide when John was a kid. (Painless, s5) 


	6. Letter 5

"... dreaming of peace." -anonymous

* * *

Mom,

I just finished a letter to Bernie, so if for some reason this reaches you before his, tell him it's on the way.

A couple of the guys' tours are almost up and they'll be leaving by the end of the month. Patrol's have become hell for them. Our sergeant hasn't been pushing them as hard as usual, but still, we work hard. Their worst fear is to get shot, or worse, get in some accident and die before they get to go home. I can only imagine now what that must be like, but I know my turn will come soon enough.

The guys who have been in country for quite some time are talking about the rainy season. It should come by the end of the month as well. From what they say, it's a few months of being wet and muddy. To be honest, I think I might enjoy it if it ends this horrid dry heat. The other day, a jeep overheated and the whole front exploded. Luckily, the men who had been in it had just parked and were walking away. Still, the one caught shrapnel on his back and legs. I heard he's in the hospital and they took most of it out.

So far, out of five patrols, we haven't made contact with the enemy, NVA or VC (Viet Cong- sometimes the guys call them "Charlie", short for "Victor Charlie"). I can't say if that makes me happy or disappointed. I don't want to take part in this killing, but I feel that it is inevitable. There will come a day, a patrol, where we, I will have to fire my weapon, if only so I can live. Last night I put voice to these fears while talking with David and it made for very solemn conversation. He told me that the man I had replaced had been in country for seven months, a little over halfway through his tour. When David first came to the unit, this man was the kindest one David had ever met and immediately took DAvid under his wing, showing him the ropes and watching out for him on patrol. The first time they made contact, it was at night and David froze, but this man, Horvitz, talked him through the whole thing. The day Horvitz was wounded, David said the only thing he could think about was Horvitz's kids that he had seen in pictures. All he could do was look after Horvitz and shoot at the VC while waiting for the medic to make his way over. I don't want to be like that, like David, watching over a good man while killing others. They must be just like us, right? A family at home, kids, a wife, mother and father, maybe siblings? They must sit like I am now and write to their families. I don't want to have to kill another good man, simply because he might kill me.

It seems to me that the politicians don't know any of this, sending young men, boys really, to kill each other. I'm afraid, Mom. I promise to watch out, but... I don't want to kill someone just to stay alive. Why can't we just go out there and come back and say we killed VC or NVA without actually doing so?

Your loving son,

John

P.S. I'm terribly sorry if this upsets you, but I needed to tell someone and I don't think Bernie would understand.


	7. Letter 6

"Good luck-do good- I have a tear in my eye as I'm writing this to you." - Commander Eugene Joseph Rice

* * *

Johnny,

It causes me great pain to see you like this, pondering death and killing. I know it is all part of war. Your father and I spent a war in concentration camps, where death was a daily occurrence but I had hoped that you would never know such suffering. Howerver, I understand your need to communicate these feelings, and I will bear the burden. I only ask that if you need to write them down, don't send them to Bernie. To have one son experiencing these atrocities is more than enough.

Bernie received your letter today, just as I did. He seems to have gotten over you telling him what to do. I don't know what you told him, but since he read it (only a few hours ago), he has been holed up in his room. I suspect he is writing a response, but that is only a guess. I will have to call him for dinner soon and maybe we'll talk about this whole situation. He still hasn't told me why he was in that fight. I suspect that he might never tell me, but as long as he doesn't do it again, I won't question him.

I'm sorry this is so short, Johnny, but I've been busy all day. Take care of yourself.

Love,

Mom


	8. Letter 7

"These are some of the rules that I have used to help me, and you might want to use them, too. First of all: Believe in God and follow his commandments; be loyal, trustworthy, morally clean, and spiritually right. Never lie no matter what, honor and love and respect your mother and father. Respect the rights and property of others. Do not covet what belongs to others, do not steal, and do not ise the word and name of God in vain." -CS1 James C. Kline

* * *

John,

I'll have you know that Quintin O'Hara was the boy I fought with, and it wasn't about Dad. He called you a "baby-killer" and when I told him to take it back, he refused, so I punched him. Gave him a black eye and broke his nose. Mom said I'm to come straight home and stay there for two weeks solid. The only time I'm allowed to leave is if I'm with her or to go to temple. But I think it's worth it for finally getting at Quintin. You might get along with him if it weren't for that. His whole family is against this damn war, and while I'm starting to hate it as well, I know you. You're a good guy, and Quintin doesn't know what he's talking about.

David's younger brother, Daniel, came up to me today at lunch. He said that you and David are in the same unit. Why didn't you tell me? Too busy reprimanding me?

Forget I said that. I didn't mean it.

You know, when you went off to basic training, I didn't think it was such a big deal. I convinced myself that you wouldn't be sent to Vietnam. When you found out David had been sent over there, I still told myself that you wouldn't be. But then, you did. I guess Mom was right by saying that I'm not handling myself as well as I'd thought. Truth is, with just Mom and me at home, it's empty. I know you were going off to college soon anyway, but at least you wouldn't have been on the other side of the world. It's a strange though, you being 3,000 miles and an ocean away. I never really thought of you being so far away before. For some reason, I couldn't think farther than a year ahead.

Mom's calling me for dinner now, so I've got to go. I'll look after her and do my schoolwork and all that. And I'll ask Jack for help if I need it. Please, watch out. I'd like to have an older brother around for a while longer.

Love,

Bernie


	9. Letter 8

"I keep writing these letters every day just to let you know that I'm all right. This is another letter written with a flashlight. I know you must be pretty worriedwith all the action that is going on." -Sgt Lee Hudson III

* * *

Mom,

I'm writing this using a candle for light, so it'll be short, seeing as snipers are in the trees and bushes.

It seems as though Bernie was writing a response to my letter the day he received it, for at the end, he mentions you calling him for dinner. I had great fun imagining the two of you in separate rooms, each writing to me. He mentioned, actually told me in detail, why he was in a fight. I assure you that it was not without provocation and it was no petty thing wither. I won't tell you exactly why, as I feel Bernie deserves my confidence on this matter. I ask only that you not push me further, as I have made my decision on the matter and will stick to it, as I know he will. He also tells me that he will be better behaved and make sure he's doing all his schoolwork. I believe I have his word.

Again, I'm deeply sorry for causing you pain and worry, and incredibly thankful that you have allowed yourself to carry future weight, if I should need to add it by talking more. I would write to David, but seeing as the both of us are over here... poses a problem, doesn't it?

Anyway, I have to go. I just had a spare shoe thrown at me.

Goodnight!

Your loving son,

John


	10. Letter 9

"But I'll tell you, man, if I ever get back there and hear someone saw Viet Nam was worthwhile or it was our obligation- I'll hit him right in the face." -Private Thomas Kingsley "Tarzan"

* * *

Mom,

I knew it's been a few days since I last wrote, but we went on a two day patrol. We were nearly at the LZ when we came under fire. There must have been a scout when we landed the day before and he alerted his unit. They were lying in ambush.

For my first time actually in contact with the enemy, I believe I performed all right. I didn't freeze up, but after a few minutes of heart thumping panic, I started firing my M-16. I don't believe I actually hit anyone (of which I am quite glad) but we killed four NVA, two with a single grenade. If possible, the guys would have taken their valuables as treasures of sorts. They are quite the prize around camp. I met a fellow who had eleven NVA belts, all from officers (lieutenants, captains- nothing to high up). Some men have watches they've taken off dead NVA, and one has a pen from an officer. Such things are usually engraved and of great worth. I hope I'll never do something as barbaric, but at the same time, I fear I will. My greater fear being that I will being to take some absurd pleasure in it. If I ever do begin to enjoy this killing, I hope I do die, for I could never live with myself.

Fortunately, we suffered no casualties and soon made it back to the LZ, only a couple scratches to show for our effort.

Back to slightly more civilized things, if it is not too much trouble, could you please send a package with some snacks? Also, some books would be nice, as there are many short periods of time in which I find myself bored, hunting around the tent for one of the other guys' books. Also, perhaps a picture of you and Bernie, as I've lost the other on a patrol. I hope to hear from you soon, seeing as I've had nearly a week with no mail, though I doubt it's because you haven't been writing.

I've got watch tonight, so I might as well catch some sleep before dinner.

Your loving son,

John


	11. Letter 10

We lost some good guys. How do you explain this in a letter? One minute they were there, then dead. I have no idea why I'm still here ... I'm supposed to feel something for those we lost. Wish to God I knew what. -Cpl Jon Johnson

* * *

Mom,

I saw a man die last night. I don't know if it's better or worse that he was killed instantly. On one hand, he didn't suffer, but on the other he had no chance. He just... died.

I was out near the perimeter on watch, sitting in a foxhole and keeping myself awake by telling myself scary stories. All of a sudden, there was this whistling sound and then a horrible explosion as a mortar round landed. The long anticipated NVA attack had finally arrived and I couldn't do anything. I made myself as small as possible in my hole. I must have stayed like that for an hour. Finally, there was a lull and I stretched out slowly, trying to stay in my hole, yet loosen up. I noticed this guy running towards me from the camp. I don't know what he was doing, but when he was about 100 feet away, the mortar fire started up again. The first one that landed his him. He just flew in the air and he landed with this horrible thump. I don't think he landed in one piece.

He wasn't our only casualty. Before all the men were either in the bunkers or somewhere else under cover, a mortar round hit a truck. I watched the explosion from my post, and heard the screams of a few men who had been scrambling pass it and therefore had been hit with shrapnel. The attack lasted until 4 am, at which point I waited for someone to relieve me. The past five hours had me crouched in a hole, wondering if the NVA would come through the camp's perimeter and take us when we were huddled in bunkers. When I was finally relieved, the company's CO came along and offered me his hand. He helped me climb, muscles stiff and sore, out of my hole, then patted me on the back and said, "Good job, soldier." I don't think I was worthy of it, but apparently he was visiting all the men who had been on watch during the attack. To be honest, I can't decide if I'd rather have been with my unit in the ten when the rounds started coming in, or alone at the edge of camp. I think I was safer in my lonely foxhole than at our tent, where I would have been closer to where the rounds were landing.

Thankfully, none of the men in my unit were any of the casualties.

I'm going to go try and catch a couple hours in the sack before we leave for a patrol later. I'm exhausted.

Your loving son,

John


	12. Letter 11

I'll be home though, I won't let anything stop me. -Marine Joe Pais

* * *

Johnny,

Here's the package you asked for. I've put all your favorite snacks in, along with some chocolate. Bernie got some books we hope you like and I bought you a notepad and pen, should yours run out. I'll write a proper letter later.

Love,

Mom

PS Oh, and here's the picture.


	13. Letter 12

Across from me were two Red Cross workers I took to be Danes. They didn't seem to speak English and wouldn't have anything to do with us, wearing a sort of fuck-the-Americans-but-we-will-ride-in-your-airplanes look on their smug blond faces. Considering all the business we were drumming up for the Red Cross, I couldn't understand the attitude of these two. I mean, shit, without us, there wouldn't be any need for them. -Paul Young

* * *

John,

Mom asked me to write to you because at the moment she can't find the words. You scared us both with your last letter. I think she's been crying.

I've been wondering (Mom won't let me watch the news at night in case they show something... I don't know what) what it looks like where you are. I know there's a lot of jungles, but Mom mentioned rice paddies too What do those look like? And you said you live in a camp, what's that like? What are the men in your unit like (besides David of course)?

Oh, and Mom wants to know if you got our package. I picked out the books. I hope you like them. Mom has also been wondering if you'd like to receive the newspaper, because she'll send it to you.

Listen, John... I know you're in a war and you see people die and stuff, but I don't think Mom had the heart to see you through twelve months of it. You haven't seen her. She's really worried, talks of hardly anything but you.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, tone it down or write the really bad stuff to me. I'm telling you, John, I don't think she's got it in her.

Love,

Bernie

PS She sends her love.


	14. Letters 13 and 14

One more GI from Vietnam, St Peter, I've served my time in hell. -popular saying among soldiers

* * *

Mom,

Just writing to say that I got your package. I've already eaten most of it and the chocolate was melted, but I ate that too.

Love,

John

* * *

Mom,

The mail service is really erratic over here. Sometimes I don't get mail for a week, then suddenly I have mail from only two days ago.

Bernie told me you were really upset with the last letter I sent you and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It's just that the guys don't talk about it afterwards, other than to say it was one hell of a night, or something similar. And to me, suddenly thrust into this place with people dying and begin injured on a daily basis... it's something I feel should be talked about, not to showcase how bad war is, but just to talk about it. To let it out. There may be times or events when I won't talk, but this... this isn't one of them. I'll try and include less next time. I'm really sorry.

Answering a couple questions Bernie said you had, I'd like to get the paper, yes. Let me know the local news at home. The package was great; I sent a note saying I received it. I ate most of the food the day I got it, and I shared the rest with the guys. Next time, don't send chocolate, as it melted. But even melted, it tasted great. I've read two of the three books you sent. Tell Bernie to get more by those authors, as I found them interesting. I've stashed the notebook and pen in as safe a place as I could find, as I fell they'll get the most use.

It started raining yesterday morning and hasn't let up much since. Everything quickly turned to mud. Unfortunately, we had to go out on patrol during one of the brief lulls and had to put on our ponchos. Everyone got soaked to the bone anyway. I think I'm still wet, hours later. Our return to camp also got delayed, so we set up about a quarter mile from the LZ. As an FNG (ask Bernie what it means... but don't slap him), Stanley and I had to go on watch at opposite ends. David volunteered to sit out with me, but Stanley got stuck with one of the guy's who's short (as in time. He's planning on leaving next week), who wasn't too happy about the whole patrol anyway and seeing as we got stuck out there, he was convinced he was going to die. Stanley said all he did was stare out to the jungle, every once in a while muttering something along the lines of, "At least St. Peter will let me in, I've already been to hell." When the choppers finally radio'd us to get to the LZ, we scrambled there, quickly securing it. Apparently, though, there were a couple VC in the trees and we attracted fire as we were lifting off. A couple guys opened up on the treetops below and that silenced them.

Mom, I can't say how sorry I am. I just needed to tell someone and you said not to tell Bernie... Now I'm placing the blame on you. It's my fault. I should've thought about it before writing. I'm sorry. I can't say it enough. Please, forgive me. I promise, never again.

Your loving son,

John

PS Please send my well wishes to David's parents.


	15. Letter 15

... you watch the cherries come in, the replacements. Instead of carrying a combat pack, they have huge rucksacks. They're carrying shaving cream, aftershave, razors. They have undershirts, underwear, notebooks, pens, a ton of stupid stuff. You see them on patrol trying to climb a hill, and they're sliding backward. Then you grab them and say, "Look. You can throw out the undershirts. You won't need them here. THe underpants, too. And the clean socks. You don't take your boot off in combat." A few crazies did take them off at night, but I never took mine off until given new ones. If there's an attack, how are you going to operate without boots in the jungle full of spines and pungi sticks? -Angel Quintana, US Army

* * *

Bernie,

I've just finished writing to Mom, so forgive me if this is sloppy or in any way cut short. Hers was quite a letter, as I was apologizing and such.

To answer some of your questions: yes, there are quite a lot of jungles, and quite a few rice paddies, seeing as that makes up most of their diet. There are mountains, covered in jungles, but I've also flown over a few fields of tall grass. Someone told me it was elephant grass; cuts your skin to ribbons. I hope we never have to land in it. The rice paddies are mostly water, with pathways, which we walk on, always a nerve wracking activity, as there is always the chance of stepping on a mine. It's like walking on an explosive tightrope. Camp is a lot of dirt, lot of men, lot of vehicles. We're not a large camp, so there's no airstrip, just a level field where the choppers are kept. I've heard guard duty over there is hell. If you get a post near a helicopter with a hard ass as a pilot, he's either waiting for you when you get out there to chew your ass out, or he checks up on you to chew your ass out, or he comes by when he knows you're getting off to (guess...) chew your ass out. One guy said this pilot did all three once. Said he nearly shot the bastard, if it hadn't been for the fact that not only would he face charges, but the guy was a damned good pilot, by anyone's telling.

Generally, the camp's all right. Yesterday, the rains started so it's turned to a huge mud puddle, but it's not that bad. Our company CO is trying to get us more socks though.

My unit has eleven guys, including me, so we're a couple short, but that's how it is. We've got a machine gunner, a radioman and a medic and the rest of us are your basic rifleman. The sergeant, Gunther Dennison, isn't a bad guy. Gives the short guys (not in height, but time. They're the ones who are going to go home soon) a break on patrols and doesn't make them walk point when they've got only a couple weeks left. Don't get me wrong, he can be a hard ass when he wants, or needs, to be, but he's generally a good guy. Then there's Bruce Greenwood, our machine gunner. He's all right too. As long as you're not on the wrong end of his gun, you're a friend. Scared me when I first met him, but then he started telling jokes and I think I must've cracked a rib, I was laughing so hard. Jordan McArthur is the only black man in the unit. He's usually quiet, but when he does talk, he's funny. He's got a wife. I've seen pictures; she's beautiful. Mark Abel is the radioman. The VC and NVA aim for radiomen, but he never mentions a word about being scared. The guys call him "Markable," and sadly, there's much truth to his nickname.

Who else? Well, there's David, but you already know him. And Stanley Klaiman I've mentioned. He's got a younger brother about your age, too, and a sister, a senior in high school. Just about all the guys (except David) are older than me. By far, Dave and I are the youngest. Danny Jessup is always smiling. Even when we're out on patrol and make contact. He's got a girlfriend, who happens to be a nurse, but she's stateside. He says that as soon as his time is up, he's going to ask her to marry him, soon as he sees her. Clay Goldstein is our medic. Haven't seen him work yet, but I'm sure he's good. I just hope I never have to find out firsthand. Then there's Clark Johnson and Billy Johnson. We call them by their initials, or first name. I've seen those two confuse the hell out of a lieutenant who didn't realize there were two Johnson's in our unit. Both of them are all right, though Billy gets scary when we make contact. He really hates the Vietnamese, which makes me really glad I'm on his side. When we caught fire leaving an LZ yesterday, he was one of the two guys who fired back.

All in all, the guys are good and since I have to be over here, I mind as well have my choice of unit and let me tell you, this would be it.

I've got watch in a half hour and this letter seems to have gone on long enough. Plus I think my hand just might be stuck in this position now.

Love,

John


	16. Letter 16

You know, when you get over here all you think about is getting back to the World. But when your time gets near, it sort of scares you because you know in your heart that you're not like the people back home. It's a funny feeling to be afraid to go home, but everyone here feels the same... There are a lot of mixed emotions- worrying about hurting the people close to you, or maybe your dreams about the States will shatter when you get home. And then there's always the way you regret leaving your buddies in this hell hole. We all joke about 'Put your time in,' but in our hearts we wish we could all go home together... -Sgt John "Butch" Hagman

Mom,

A while, I told you that two guys are short. Well, Jordan McArthur left today. He was happy to be going home to his wife. It was almost a bittersweet departure, because now we're going to get a new guy who probably knows about as much as when I first came. Personally, I don't know if I rather say goodbye to Jordan and welcome a new guy to this war, or hang on to Jordan. To be honest, I don't think I'll ever know if either is better or if they rank about the same. Clark Johnson is going to be leaving in a few days too, so technically we'll be getting two new guys.

A helicopter extracting some men from an LZ was shot down the other day. Amazingly, the one guy made it, but he's still pretty messed up. Of course, the remaining guys on the ground went scouting the jungle again and I think they even brought some artillery in, just to see if maybe they could kill the VC responsible. Yesterday, we were sent out to an LZ not far from there to scout out to area. We made contact, but it was brief. We wounded one guy and Billy Johnson went out and dragged him back. We took him as a prisoner and made our way back to the LZ, where the choppers flew us back to camp and we handed our prisoner off to the proper authorities.

David's just come into the tent. Says we've got another patrol, so I'll write later.

Your loving son,

John


	17. Letter 17

Oh my God, you mean people are trying to kill me? Wait a minute... I never really thought about dying before. -Charles Sabatier, US Army

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Johnny,

It wasn't so much what you told me as it was me realizing the very real possibility of you dying. I had thought about it before, but I don't think I really knew that it could happen. I've already lost your father. I don't want to lose you, too.

It's a good thing you warned me about "FNG" because I still almost slapped Bernie. Such vulgar language.

I've put in for another subscription to the newspaper, so expect that in about a week. Bernie has gotten some more books for you, and I'm going out later to buy some more snacks and things. I don't know if you want or need them, but I'll get you some playing cards. Bernie heard in school that there is a junior high class looking to write to soldiers. He volunteered your name, so don't be surprised if you get mail from some kid.

Uncle Jacob called today. He's going to stay with us for a while, help me and Bernie out. I gave him your address, so he'll be writing you soon. Most likely he'll be in your room. I've got to tell Bernie yet, but I don't think he'll mind much. You boys have always looked up to Uncle Jacob, and hopefully he'll stay after you come home and after you leave again for college. Now that his own kids are grown and Aunt Beth has passed away, I expect he wants to be around family and it helps us out as well. Maybe having him around will give Bernie a good father figure through these difficult years. I'm sorry you never really had someone to look up to. There are so many things I feel you missed out on by not having a father, or father figure. With me working and you taking care of Bernie so much, I feel as if I robbed you of your childhood, or at least a large part of it. And now... now I might lose you. Now I find myself thinking of all the things I've done wrong, all the thing I should have done different. If you make it out of this alive, you'll understand when you become a parent. Until then, I'm left only to think over the past and pray that I see you again. Sometimes I believe Bernie has more faith than I do. Maybe because he's younger. I don't know.

Love,

Mom


	18. Letter 18

This kind of insidious threat - the knowledge that there were no front lines, that everywhere was a combat zone - was a hard thing to live with. Day in and day out. The war was with you all the time. For instance, I remember feeling the little tinkle of dog tags around my neck and reminding myself I could go home in a body bag. Because dog tags were in case you were so disfigured they couldn't tell who you were. Yeah, Vietnam had a way of playing on your mind. And it wasn't just the guys in the jungle who felt it. Everyone felt it. I know I felt it, too. -Judy Jenkins, US Army social worker

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John,

Your mother gave me your address. I figured that I should write to see how you're doing. I don't know if she's told you yet, but I'm going to be moving in with your mother and Bernie to help out. I thought that maybe I should check in with the man of the house before packing my bags though.

So, kiddo, how are you doing? Your mother says that you've seen some action and your camp has been attacked by mortar fire, during which a man died in front of you. It's hard, I know, watching someone die and have no power over it. It's probably the worst feeling, worse than having power over someone's life and exerting it by taking their life. For some reason, you can become somewhat immune to killing another man, but it always hurts when you see a friend die. If you ever want to talk about it, I'm here. Don't hesitate to write. Probably be easier on your mother, too. She sounded as worried as ever when she told me, and that's saying something. War's tough on a soldier, and just as tough on his family. You're a strong kid. You'll make it. I'm not as sure about your mother, but hopefully with me around she'll ease up.

She also mentioned you're in that same unit as your best friend. That's a stroke of luck, but be careful. While being friends with men in your unit is good for cooperation and such, it hurts that much more when one of them dies. I'm not telling you to shut yourself off, but be careful. A broken heart makes a foolish man, and in war it makes a dead man. Here at home, we'd all like to see you come back safe and sound.

Love,

Uncle Jake

PS By the time you get this and I get your response, I'll be in your house, so send it to your mother. She'll give it to me.


	19. Letter 19

They could booby-trap everything. A cigarette package - anything - and leave it around. There was unbelievable terror of everything booby-trapped... -Tom Hagel, US Army

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John,

I'm sure Mom and Uncle Jake have written and told you this already, but he's coming to live with us for a while. Help out and stuff.

Your letter was great. Have you got a nickname? If so, what is it? I feel bad for Mark Abel, though. I bet his family is more worried about him than we are about you. Bruce sounds cool, as do Stanley and Danny. I wish I could meet your unit.

Mom mentioned that it was really hot over there. Has it cooled down any since it started raining? I hope so. Walking through a hot jungle doesn't sound that appealing. Then again, I imagine it's not that great in the rain either.

Oh, I gotta go. Sorry it's so short, but I wanted to write before going to sleep and now it's really late. I read your letter again, too, so that made it take longer.

Love,

Bernie


	20. Letter 20

I was still half asleep, but the whooshing staccato of booms signaled my senses as to what he was talking about. Like the precise ass that I am, I faultlessly dressed myself to include lacing and tying my boots, and then ran a quarter of a mile to our defense bunker while the mortars were incoming. -CWO Anthony B. De Angelis

------------------------------

Mom,

I haven't been able to write for a couple days for a few reasons, the least of which not being the rain. The CO has finally gotten us more socks and we go through at least two, three pairs a day. The real problem is drying them. Everything is damp, at the very least. We don't even have to take showers anymore. We just walk outside with some soap and in no more than five minutes, we're clean. I never though I'd see rain like this, let alone be expected to live in it.

Clark Johnson went home yesterday, another bittersweet departure, made even more so by the fact that our CO told our sergeant that replacements will be arriving in about a week. You already know why this makes me upset, so I won't repeat it.

Because we're only nine men strong now, the CO doesn't really want to send us out on patrol, but he has no choice, seeing as another unit lost six guys two days ago, and then another one who went home. For the time being, until both of us get replacements, they're to go out with us. Hopefully, there won't be any problems. Actually, I think it works in our favor, seeing as their machine gunner didn't get hit, we'll have two for a while. That should come in handy when we make contact, especially if it's heavy. If we're even luckier, it won't come to that and we'll be left to simple walk through the jungle and rice paddies in relative peace.

We were hit with mortar and rocket fire last night, and it went on for a good four hours. This time I wasn't on watch, but I had the next watch. Luckily, I had another man in the foxhole with me and we were able to keep each other awake. Even with the possibility of danger so near, it is very easy to drift off when you're exhausted from humping the boonies all day.

It's starting to rain again, so I have to say goodbye, but I'll write again tomorrow, if there's a dry spell.

Your loving son,

John

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A/N: "Humping the boonies" was an expression used by soldiers referring to carrying their packs through the jungle.


	21. Letter 21

It was just (about) surviving. Save your friends, you save yourself, and it didn't matter about anything else- the United States, Mom, apple pie, the girl you left behind- all that stuff was just for movies and books... The rest of it was just living from one second to the next and hoping that the seconds added up to minutes and hours and days and months so you could go home. -Marine veteran Ralph Strang

--------------------------------------------

Mom,

We went on a patrol last night with men from the other unit I told you about. One of them got hit in some action we caught. It wasn't that bad and our medic patched him up well enough so he could walk back to the LZ with us. Me and a couple other guys had to give him what was left of our water, but I didn't mind and I don't think they did either. Out here, we're like brothers. If we weren't, things would certainly be harder.

Later today, our machine gunner, Bruce Greenwood, and I have watch down by the road. We have to search any Vietnamese that pass. On one hand, I rather not seeing as most of them aren't that bad, but then, there's always the chance that they're helping the local VC or worse, they are VC. It gets tiring sometimes, trying to communicate to them that we're just searching them and then they can move on their way. I have a feeling that Bruce will take some of the stress off by joking. He's scary when you first meet him, but once you do, he's hilarious. He's one of those guys that knows how to tell a funny story just perfect, to make it seem ten times funnier, even if you were there whenever the events of the story took place.

The colonel is worried that we're going to get hit with some heavy mortar and/or rocket fire tonight or tomorrow. According to him, the NVA follow some sort of pattern. If you ask me, I think he just wants a reason to build better bunkers to save his own skin when they hit us again. The guy's a real piece of work. Luckily, that's the biggest fuss he makes. I don't think he's ever been in the jungle, or walked through rice paddies, or explained to scared villagers that we don't want to hurt them while pointing a formidable looking weapon at them. Something, if you look at the way things are going over here, it's no wonder we're losing.

Bruce is calling. Says the sergeant wants us out at our post early.

Your loving son,

John


	22. Letter 22

Don't mourn me, Mother, for I'm happy I died fighting my country's enemies, and I will live forever in people's minds. I've done what I've always dreamed of. Don't mourn me, for I died a soldier of the United States of America. God bless you all and take care. I'll be seeing you in heaven. -Private Hiram D. Strickland _About a month after his personal effects had ben sent home, some of his buddies found a notebook beside his bed. It had been overlooked because it had fallen by the side of his tent. On the pad, in Pfc. Strickland's own handwriting, was the letter from which this passage was taken._

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Mom,

The mail service over here is really annoying. It took only four days for me to get your last few letters, yet sometimes it takes a week or longer.

Anyway, I'm glad that Uncle Jacob is coming to live with you and Bernie. I'm pretty sure he will help out Bernie. I mean look at Ted. He's well on his way to becoming a fine lawyer. And Christina is doing well, too, married to Anthony as she is.

I'm eagerly waiting for my first newspaper to arrive. It will be a well received dose of the world. Letters from you and Bernie are wonderful, but I'd also like another piece, too. Cards would be nice, thank you. I also can't wait for more books. This time maybe I should read them slower so they'll last longer, instead of barely a week.

Mom, as far as raising me and Bernie goes, you've done a great job. There are times when I wished I had a father, but you can't blame yourself for any of it. I love the childhood I had, and even though I know that this war, more than anything, is stealing my last moments of it, I can live and grow into a man content with the life I've had so far. If anything, I think I might have an advantage over others because of the way I raised. I know we've always joked about how much you worry, but this is something you really shouldn't worry about. And you're not going to lose me. I'm going to come home.

I'm coming home.

Your loving son,

John


	23. Letter 23

Because we paid, and are still paying, such a dear price, it is hard to forgive and forget. The country used and abused and then attempted to disown and discredit the Vietnam War generation. And let that be the lesson for the younger generations, so that it was not all in vain. Everyone has a right to be treated fairly and honestly. And a right to question authority. You have a right to live. -Joe McDonald, US Navy veteran

------------------------------

Johnny,

I'm sorry to hear that two guys are going home, but just think of how happy their families are that they made it home. Help out the new guys as much as the ones who left helped you when you first came. Give them a better chance of going home alive.

I'm glad that no one got hurt. I hope the man you took prisoner was helpful in some way. Billy Johnson sounds like a brave man to go out and get him. I pray that any dangers you boys face won't take you away from the rest of the world forever. Boys like you we need more of. Just remember that when you do something reckless or dangerous in any way.

With this letter is another package. I'll try to send them more often since it takes so long for them to get to you.

Love,

Mom


	24. Letter 24

... Here in Vietnam the war goes on. Morale is very high in spite of the fact that most men think the war is being run incorrectly. One of the staggering facts is that most men here believe we will _not_ win the war. And yet they stick their necks out everyday and carry on with their assigned tasks as if they were fighting for the continental security of the United States. Hard to believe but true. -Rod Chastant, US Marines, KIA

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Bernie,

Sorry it's taken me a few days to write. It's hard to find a time to write between the rain and the work.

To answer your questions: yes, it has cooled down since it started raining. Honestly, I rather it be raining that the heat we had before. It's still hot, though. The only thing that really sucks is sitting in a foxhole while it rains. We try to make cover by throwing a poncho over the top, but it's muddy to begin with, so it only keeps you from getting even more wet.

No, I haven't got a nickname... yet. I'm sure they'll come up with one though. Or maybe two or three. With them, one can only be sure to receive at least one. Beyond that... it's a big surprise.

I wish this could be longer so I could fill you in on everything, but I really should be getting ready for a patrol. Be good for Mom, and whenever Uncle Jake gets there, you heed what he tells you and treat him with respect. He's helping us out while I'm over here, so don't you dare do anything to make him regret it. Mom will give you the full speech, but I thought I'd give you the rundown. I'll be writing to Uncle Jake later.

Listen, I've gotta run. Sorry it wasn't as long as the last one.

Love,

John


	25. Letter 25

He is fully alert but "locked in," paralyzed from the eyes down from a severed brainstem. He is able only to blink, move his eyes up and down, and cry, and there's no hope of his ever doing more than that...

We print the alphabet on a piece of cardboard, so he can communicate more than yes or no. We run a finger along the letter, and he blinks out a message.

Once in the middle of a quiet night he blinks the message "L-E-T M-E D-I-E."... -Winnie Smith, US Army nurse

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Uncle Jake,

I can't tell you just how grateful I am for you volunteering to help my mother and Bernie out. She worries constantly about whether or not she's doing right by us boys. She's always wanted a man in the house, but never found the right one to marry, so don't be surprised if she doesn't want to let you go back to your own home. In all seriousness though, thank you. I'm sure she'll say it a hundred times a day, but I wanted you to know I'm grateful as well.

I'm doing good, despite the rain and mud. Or perhaps because of it. It certainly makes the heat more bearable, even if it makes everything else harder. I have seen some action, yes. We took a prisoner about a week ago. I don't think his information, if he gave any, was good because there hasn't been any word of a large group of NVA passing by or anything, no heightening number of patrols. Our camp has been hit with mortar and/or rocket fire twice, but the colonel is constantly worried. For once, when he told us he though the NVA were going to attack (he's fond of telling us this sort of news over breakfast), I believed him. It's been a while since the last one and there's been more activity lately, when we go out on patrols and such. I'm a little worried, but not much. I'm confident of the abilities of the men in my unit and of those I've met in other units in my company.

Uncle Jake, I've been trying to keep up a strong, brave front for my mother and Bernie, but this war... I'm scared. I've been here about a month, and already a man has died right before my eyes, another wounded, and a third taken prisoner. I've heard the stories of other men who have died. Another unit in my company lost six men in one patrol. Four dead in combat, and the other two have since died of their wounds. I keep telling Mom and Bernie that I'm going to come home, but I don't think I will. If there's no hell, then where am I? I don't want to die, and I don't want to die for this country my father loved and mother still loves. They don't deserve my life, and maybe I don't deserve it either, but if neither of us do, then who does? It can't be God because contrary to other, war has made me more doubtful of God's existence than ever before, not more sure of it.

Tell them that, if I die, I love them. Tell them I always will and I'll always be around, I'll be with them.

Tell them that, please, Uncle Jake. Tell them that if I don't come home.

Love,

John


	26. Letter 26

It was a war we shouldn't have been in - which everybody, military and nomilitary, said the same thing. We didn't have any reason for being there. But the fact was we were there, and we did the best we could. -Pinkie Houser, US Army

* * *

Johnny,

If you'd like, I could send you some socks in my next package. Have you gotten the last one yet?

Uncle Jacob arrived today. He's upstairs settling in before dinner. He mentioned that he wrote you and is expecting a reply. I hope you've sent it here, if you've written back yet. He's also brought some books with him that he's going to send to you.

I hope nobody got hurt in the mortar fire and you all were able to get to the bunkers in time. It's a good thing you and the other man were able to keep each other awake. Who knows what could have happened if you had fallen asleep.

Bernie mentioned that you worked with a man named Bruce. I assume it's the same one. It's good to have a man like that with you. In such high spirits despite the situation. You would do well to follow his lead.

I'm sorry to hear about the man from the other unit. Seems like their luck is down, losing eight men in a few days time. I hope you treat them well, seeing as they are guests to your unit. It's good to hear that you feel like brothers, and have that closeness. I suppose over there that it is a necessity, or like you said "if not, things would be harder." Perhaps the Army is good for some things, if they teach you values like that.

I have to tend to dinner.

Love,

Mom


	27. Letter 27

The first time you were under fire, you thought, "How ... can they do this to me? If only I could talk to the ... firing at me, we'd get along, everything would be all right." I just had the overwhelming feeling that if I could talk to these people, that they are really the same as I am, that it's not us that are doing it, it's some other system and we're just pawns in this... thing, throwing the shit at each other. -Lee Childress, US Army

* * *

Mom,

Two new guys arrived today, to replace Clark ad Jordan. They seem all right, but I don't think the one is going to make it. I don't know why I think that, I just have a strong feeling about it. I hope I'm wrong.

We were hit with a long bout of mortar fire last night A couple men were hit with shranel but nothing more serious.

I just heard a mortar go off.

Your loving son,

John


	28. Letter 28

... It is gret to know your family's safe, living in a secure country; a country made secure by the thousands of men who have died for that country.

... I have a commitment to the men who have gone before me... -Rod Chastant, US Marines, KIA

* * *

Johnny,

That brother of yours has gotten himself into another fight. This time, he broke his arm because he fell down and landed on it. And he won't tell me with who, or why. He won't tell your Uncle Jacob either. I don't know what's gotten into him lately. Please, write to him and find out what's wrong. Since we've returned from the hospital, he hasn't said more than two words at a time to me or Uncle Jacob. He never came down for dinner, either. Johnny, he needs you, I think. Write to him, please.

Love,

Mom


	29. Letter 29

The soldiers got a great deal of support from the States. Classes by the hundreds would write letters addressed to a soldier in Vietnam, and these were packed up and sent to our unit, and by and large, the soldiers would try to respond to these things. There was a groundswell of popular support behind the troops in 1965. -Ted Danielsen

* * *

Mom,

I got your package. Again, I ate almost everything, then shared the rest with the guys. We all enjoyed the cards as well, playing poker with cigarettes as money. It was fun.

We got word today that we'll be on some hill for a week, so I don't think I'll be writing much, and I don't think I'll be getting any mail from home. To be honest, I don't know why we're going out for a whole week, as (according to the others) our unit has only done so once before. Perhaps they think it's best now, as we are as close to full strength as we've ever been. The two men from the other unit are still with us, as enough replacements haven't been gathered yet. But don't worry, we'll all be together, and supposedly there's an old French fortification at the hill. That means actual walls, which means safety.

Anyway, that's the main reason I wrote. I should start getting ready. Send my love to Bernie and Uncle Jacob.

Your loving son,

John


	30. Letter 30

By God, they sent us over here to kill Communists and that's what we're doing. -Harold Moore, Jr, US Army

* * *

John,

I'm glad to hear all is well. You were right, your mother says 'thank you' entirely too often. I've told her almost as many times not to worry about it, I don't mind, we're family, but she doesn't listen. And I thought your father was stubborn. Of course, it seems as if you're younger brother has inherited that particular trait. After getting into a fight (his second, your mother tells me), he refuses to tell anyone why or with whom. Perhaps if you write him, he'll let you in on his secret. Your mother says he's told you once before. He really looks up to you. I've noticed it before, but now that I'm living with him, it's all the more apparent.

Despite you being in harm's way all the time, I'd say they're managing very well. Your mother comes from work everyday and makes dinner. The only times I've seen her worrying about you (without actually saying anything to me) is when she calls Bernie to dinner. She holds onto the door frame (the one between the living room and kitchen) and calls up the stairs, then stands a few seconds, still looking up, but I can feel it's not because she's waiting for Bernie. She's waiting for you. And Bernie, well, he's Bernie. Only time he gets visibly upset is when your mother won't let him watch the evening news. She's afraid of seeing you dead before she even gets the news from an Army official. And if she's scared of something, you know she won't let Bernie near it. He's been getting real angry over that. I've tried talking to your mother, but stubbornness just runs in our family it seems. Maybe I'll catch her by surprise.

John, if there's one thing I learned living through two wars, it's believing you're going to make it out is going to get you out. Now, somehow, that let your father and I survive concentration camps, and your mother and her father survive too. Let me survive fighting in Korea, along with a couple good friends of mine. You have to believe. If you don't believe you're going to come home, you're not. Last time I checked, you have a real nice home to come to, a mother, a brother. If you want to be strong for them, believe.

_Believe_, John.

Love,

Uncle Jake


	31. Letter 31

Sometimes, I get so lonesome for you that I could cry. When we are out on an operation it is much easier 'cause then I'm too worried about coming back that night and I'm not lonesome. Everybody out there is thinking the same thing that I am. I carry my wallet with me and look at your picture wherever I go. -Sgt Howard Querry

* * *

Mom,

I know I said I probably wouldn't be writing much, but I can't sleep. Kind of funny, considering I've been up for almost 18 hours now, helping to set up camp and keeping watch and the like. Normally, I fall asleep in an instant, but I just can't now. Maybe it's the lizards. The noises they make sound like someone saying, "Fuck you." Don't know why they're bothering me today, as usually I find them amusing.

They have us out here on this damn hilltop for a reason, and I hope it isn't to die. After today, we have seven whole days up here, watching over the jungle. Hopefully luck, and numbers, will be on our side. We're 13 strong with two machine gunners instead of one. I think we have two radios as well, but I'm not sure on that.

David's calling. Gotta go.

Your loving son,

John


	32. Letter 32

Artillery from our ships will soon hit your village. You must look for cover immediately. From now on, chase the Vietcong away from your village, so the government won't have to shell your area again. -Leaflet No. APO-6227, US Army's Psychological Warfare Office

* * *

Johnny,

I can't seem to fall asleep, so I thought I'd write. Maybe I won't even send this letter. Who knows?

Bernie is finding life with a broken arm trying and sometimes quite difficult. He and I have been fighting lately concerning the subject of him watching the evening news. Uncle Jacob feels he should be allowed to watch it, but I really don't want him seeing this world. I know he will one day, but I rather it be when he's older. I don't want him to know what you now know. That people kill each other and wage wars against each other. That people die, for no good reason sometimes, too. Under no circumstances do I want communism spreading to the United States, but I don't want to lose my boy in the process. I wish there were a peaceful way to settle this whole ordeal, but I suppose the old politicians rather strut their armies to show off for each other. None of them could possible have a son in the military. Not one. And if they do, they're sitting in comfy armchairs, politely debating this whole conflict. Like I said, I don't want communism to spread, but I don't want to lose good boys like you in the process.

Other than these dark thoughts on the war, life is moving along fairly well. Uncle Jacob is settled in your room. Bernie has been keeping his grades up and been acting better, except for the fight he got himself into. He still won't tell either me or Uncle Jacob with whom he was fighting, or why, and to be honest, I've about given up. I simply don't have the strength or will to argue with him everyday about it. As for me, work has been going about as well as can be expected, it being work and all. I'm almost done getting together another package for you. I've included socks this time, along with snacks and Uncle Jacob's books. Please write me if you need anything else. Have you received a letter from that junior high class I told you about? If you haven't, I assume they haven't gotten around to it yet, what with their studies and all. I hope you've been enjoying the newspaper. How many issues have you gotten so far? David's family has invited Bernie and I to dinner Friday night. I'm so happy for you, being with David even now, so far away from your family, and I'm so glad you have a friend in a boy like David. Such a nice young man.

Oh my, I've just looked at the clock and it reads 1:17. I should try to go to sleep again. Wherever you are, sweet dreams, Johnny. I love you. Stay safe.

Love,

Mom


	33. Letter 33

We went out to a dance that night. All I had to was my ... uniform. And boy it was such a shock. People looking at me like, "You scum." They'd walk by and spit on the ground. And I got this tremendous feeling that I wasn't supposed to have survived. -Frank McCarthy, US Army

* * *

Johnny,

We just today received your letter about being out for a week. I do hope you are safe and that (if indeed they exist) the French fortifications keep you safe.

With this letter is another package. I think I'm beginning to get them ready easier and faster. Uncle Jacob and Bernie are going out later to buy you some more books. Hopefully they'll pick out some good ones. Otherwise, nothing new going on at home. We've all settled into a routine with each other, so that's been easier. Tomorrow, Bernie and I are going to David's house to have dinner with his family, but I told you that in my last letter, didn't I?

Well, like I mentioned, nothing new, so forgive me since this is short. I love you.

Love,

Mom


	34. Letter 34

When I got him on the path I realized where the smoke was coming from and got rid of it. A smoke grenade (signal) he had on his shoulder harness had been detonated by the artillery. When the smoke cleared, I looked at him. He was still talking. The grenade had burned his back, and the artillery had hit him in the face, chest, and took big hunks out of the upper part of his leg and cut his foot off ... The medics fixed everybody up as best they could. Two died later, I guess the rest will be okay. -Sgt George R. Basset

* * *

Mom,

It feels so good to be back at camp, but I don't think we'll be here long. I think we might be going out as a company. However, I'm determined to make the most of it, beginning with enjoying your latest package as much as I can. I also received your letters and one from Uncle Jacob. It took me a while to read through them all. After this, I plan on writing to Bernie. I think I know why he got himself into another fight, but I"m not sure. If I am right, then again I think I will keep his silence. Although, I do side with Bernie and Uncle Jacob as to the matter of Bernie watching the news. He's old enough I think. And besides, he has a right to see what it's like over here. He has a right to see what our government is doing. By now I know you've had dinner with David's family. How was it? Did you have fun? I hope so. I miss having dinner at home with you and Bernie. Any meal really. And your cooking is certainly better than what we eat over here. Too bad you weren't our cook. No one would leave the mess tent. I haven't received a letter from the class yet, but when I do I'l be sure to reply and tell you as well. I don't remember how many papers I've gotten, but I do enjoy them. News sure is different than anything we hear over here around camp. It's good to hear about home.

I love you. Don't worry. I'm safe.

Your loving son,

John


	35. Letter 35

See, you got to shoot animals in the head. If we shoot you in your stomach, you may just fall over and die. But an animal, you got to shoot them in the head. They don't understand that they supposed to fall over and die. -Reginald "Malik" Edwards, US Marines

* * *

Bernie,

Mom and Uncle Jacob told me you were in another fight and broke your arm. Was it with Quintin? Was it about me, or Dad? Whoever it was with and whatever your reason, I hope you've learned that fighting isn't an option. Ever. Don't take this the wrong way, I just want you to learn that fighting and war is never the answer. It may seem to solve things, but it doesn't. All it leads to is death, destruction, loss of trust and heartache. I need to know that you know that. Being over here is an experience that I will never forget. I will never forget the sight of the first man I saw die. The sound of incoming artillery. The sound of bullets. The sight of blood on a friend who's been shot. I don't necessarily want you to know it, but I want you to remember it. If our generation doesn't remember this war... we can't avoid a similar one in the future.

Love,

John

PS Take care of that arm.


	36. Letter 36

How odd and unpredictable are individuals men's destinies. One dies. One lives. A third observes each and writes about both. How long will the snuffing out of a life live in my memory? The taking of that life for no sensible reason, what will its aftereffect be? Will it change who I am? -Lt James Michener

* * *

Uncle Jake,

It's a comfort to know they're getting along all right. Sometimes, I can't be sure and it's nice to know you're watching over them while I can't. I've written Mom and told her I think she should let Bernie watch the news, and hopefully she'll listen. Stubborness does seem to run in the family, but it's not always a particularly bad thing. I've also written Bernie and I suspect I know why he got into a second fight, and if it's for the same reason as the first... he was well justified and whoever he fought deserved it. I don't agree with the fact that he got into a fight, but like I said, if it's for the same reason as last time... well, it may not be the right thing to do, but it wasn't without reason.

It amazes me, and consequently surprises me, that after only a couple months in country, I'm so strongly against violence that I fear what I'll do the next time we make contact. The past weeks have seen me become fast friends with the men in my unit and along with it the wartime brotherhood bond of soldiers, especially in battle but... I don't want to have someone's blood on my hands. It's not my mistake to bear, therefore I should come away with clean hands but I don't think I will. Did you feel the same way in Korea? Maybe not, seeing as Americans accepted that war. It's just that I think this whole thing is wrong. I think, if communism actually worked and not just in theory, that I wouldn't mind communism spreading to the World. Since it doesn't though, I suppose I shall have to live, and maybe die, fighting it and its spreading. If only there were a better way. Two months here and I've seen a friend shot and another blown to pieces. A unit has been decimated in combat. Guys I ate with, now dead. Good guys. I can only wonder how I will feel after another ten months here.

If you don't hear from me in a while, it means we're out humping. Word around camp is a company "outing." Makes it seem like a picnic. Never underestimate the ability of the Army to make war sound like a walk in the park.

Love,

John


	37. Letter 37

You got to the point where you could smell and feel people around. All your senses were a lot keener. Like your sense of hearing at night. You'd sit out there and it'd be absolutely quiet. You could put a battalion on a hill and hear a pin drop. And as soon as darkness fell, your whole instinct was outside the perimeter... your whole sense of being is out there. You were like living radar.

You also leaned to move through dense jungle without making any noise. You move slowly. Stop. Listen. Watch where you put your foot... -John Catterson, US Marines

* * *

Johnny,

I'm glad you're back at camp. Uncle Jacob said you might be going on another extended patrol with the company. Be safe.

The dinner with David's family was fun. We talked about you boys and the war and other things that I can't even remember anymore. Bernie and Daniel talked for a while, after dinner. I've decided to let Bernie watch the news, though I'm not happy about it. He watches in studios silence, and afterwards goes to his room. I often wonder over his silence, after he was so vocal in trying to get the privilege.

For the longest time I've wanted to replace the lamp in the living room. Well, I finally got around to purchasing one but it doesn't look as good in the house as it did in the store. I tried returning it yesterday and oi vey! What a trip that was! It must have taken us an hour in the store. Those people just didn't know what to do. I'm surprised they could even feed themselves. I had brought Bernie along because I was planning on going to the grocery store afterwards and he wanted to get something or other. I was so aggravated when we finally got out of the store that we went straight home. Uncle Jacob took Bernie back out later while I relaxed for a bit. Such a nice man, your uncle. I really am glad he decided to help us out. Makes a lot of things a lot easier. I hope you've thanked him for all he's doing, watching over us while you're over there.

You know, I don't think I've told you this lately, and you most certainly deserve it. I'm proud of you, John. It's not easy for you over there, I know, but you're there. I'm really proud of you, my son. Be safe.

Love,

Mom


	38. Letter 38

... it was awe, not courage, that nailed my feet to the ground when the Americans landed. In time, we all would learn the wisdom of standing still at the approach of Americans - the way one learns to stand still in the face of an angry dog. Before long, any Vietnamese who ran from Amercian gunships would be considered Viet Cong and shot down for the crime of fear. -Le Ly Hayslip, South Vietnamese civilian

* * *

John,

There were times when I felt we were doing the wrong thing, yes. Times I didn't want to kill. Now, this may sound horrible and to any who aren't fighting, it is, but once you get out there and you're engaged with the enemy, you don't think of them as people. They're merely the enemy, a man trying his hardest to kill you. Training kicks in, along with natural instinct. Kill or be killed. Plus the fact that the man next to you is depending on you to watch out for him. If he goes down, you cover him so the medic can take care of him. When you're in the field, there's no two ways about it. And while I know you don't want to kill someone, certain things become not only a necessity, but something that is accepted and in most cases expected. I know you'll do what you have to. You're a good kid.

Yes, the Army always has a way of making war sound romantic. How else do you think they would get so many young men and boys to join up? How else do you think they get the average citizen to agree with what they're doing? That's the reason people are so angry over this war; they found out, courtesy of the media, that the Army's been lying to them. They think the only thing that you're doing over there is killing women and children and innocents. What they don't realize, or see is the American GI that has stepped on a mine. Technology is causing more problems than it's solving, if you ask me.

Otherwise, things are holding up on the home front. Your mother bought a new lamp for the living room the other day. Said she coudln't stand the old one any longer. It doesn't really make a difference to me, but she seems happier about this new one. Did you say something to her about Bernie and the news? If you did, it certainly worked. He's been watching all week. Never says anything about it though. I think I might ask him what's going on, see how he's holding up. He doesn't really talk much about it, or you for that matter.

Your mother says hello and she loves you.

Love,

Uncle Jake


	39. Letter 39

...how do you ask a man to be the last man to die for a mistake? -John Kerry, US Navy

* * *

John,

It was Quintin and he wouldn't shut up about you. Saying a lot of shit that wasn't true, not at all. And I know you rather not fight, but what was I supposed to do? Sit back and take it? If you're not here to defend yourself, I'm certainly not going to let them run your name into the mud.

Whatever you said to Mom worked, because she's been letting me watch the news. The things they show, you don't do that, right? They keep saying we should pull out and we're suffering too many casualties and we're killing more civilians than enemy. But you're not killing women and children and old men like they say, right? I don't think you are. Quintin's just a prick. He's just getting to me. I try to ignore him, but I can't let myself believe you're doing the things he says. I'm just being stupid, I guess.

Mom and I went to dinner at David's house. Daniel and I talked about this whole thing. Says Quintin gives him the same shit. He hasn't gotten in a fight with him though. Does that make him or me weak? Daniel says that David doesn't want to be in this war either, but he'll fight for his country. I think Daniel would join the Army if he could, if he was old enough I mean. He doesn't really think we're going about the war the right way, but he wants to protect his country. I think I agree with him, on both counts, but I don't think I could do what you're doing.

Uncle Jake said you might be going on another patrol, but with the whole company. Stay safe.

Love,

Bernie


	40. Letter 40

In Vietnam, the only measure of victory was one of the most hideous, morally corrupting ideas ever conceived by the military mind, the body count. -Phillip Caputo, US Marines

* * *

Mom, Uncle Jake, Bernie,

Sorry this isn't on real paper, but I just wanted to let you know I'm okay. There's a medevac coming to get one of our guys, so I'll give this to the pilot, but don't worry, I'm not hurt. Just a little tired and wet is all. Won't be getting any mail from you until we get back to camp, but keep writing. I'll catch up with it all, I promise. Not sure when we're getting back, but at least a week more humping.

I'm fine. Don't worry. I love you all.

Love,

John


	41. Letter 41

I would rather to have had you for 21 years, and all the pain that goes with losing you, then never to have had you at all. -Mrs Eleanor Wimbish, mother of Willam R. Stocks, US Army, KIA

* * *

Johnny, 

I guess, since we haven't gotten mail from you in quite a few days, that you're out with the company. Uncle Jacob tells me it's perfectly normal and that most likely you're safer than if you were with just your unit. Strength in numbers, he said. I hope he's right.

Bernie is keeping up with his strange behavior. I don't know whether to ask him about it or not. I think Uncle Jacob might talk with him. Every night after Bernie leaves the room after the news, Jacob looks up from his paper and watches Bernie leave. I hope he's okay. Maybe I was right in not letting him watch the news. But if you say that he is older enough...

I know I always tell you to be safe, but it's always been for selfish reasons. I don't want to lose you because I'm afraid of it's after effects. The pain I went through with the loss of your father was great and I fear the pain of losing you. If the loss of you creates anything near the pain I felt when your father died, I don't know what I'll do. I know I don't talk about him and that, in a way, I have forbidden you and Bernie to talk about him. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do. I was afraid of the pain I thought talking about him would bring. But... what he did was wrong. It is wrong. I didn't want you and Bernie to think he was a bad man, a bad Jewish man. But maybe what I did was wrong, too. I don't know. I hope, in time if not now, you will understand this. You will understand my reasoning. I hope you can understand. I hope you can forgive me, if you believe I was wrong.

I'm sorry.

Love,

Mom

* * *

A/N: Eleanor Wimbish left many letters at the Vietnam Memorial Wall in Washington, DC for her son. They were all collected and are stored with other things left for those whose names are on the Wall. 


	42. Letter 42

They were tremendously inventive. We used to capture homemade rifles created out of metal pipes and bits of fence post. We never put out antipersonnel mines: We knew they would be dug up and used against us. Claymores were strictly accounted for, but they were still stolen. We always worried about Charlie getting sophisticated weapons. Once our whole battalion was roused out at night and sent looking for a starlight scope which was lost. We found it. We were really worried about him getting a field piece... The Vietnamese were just so ingenious. We all knew they were poor, not stupid. -Thomas Giltner, US Army

* * *

John,

Uncle Jake talked to me yesterday after the news was over. He asked if I was all right, if I was getting along okay. I told him yes, but I don't think he believed me. I was telling him the truth. I am all right. Just not with this war. But other than that, I'm okay. You know, this whole war is crazy. I can only imagine how you feel fighting. Danny and I have been hanging a lot since I went to his house for dinner. We still mostly talk about the war, but we've talked about other things, too. He's a real great guy. I suppose he's a lot like David, but at the same time, he's not. Does that make sense?

Mom says you probably are on a patrol with the whole company because we haven't gotten mail from you in a while. I think she's really losing it. She even talked about Dad yesterday. Just out of the blue, started talking about this funny thing he had done once. Even Uncle Jake knew it was something that she was talking about him. Has she told you anything about that? Well, maybe by the time you get this letter, I'll have found out.

Stay safe.

Love,

Bernie


	43. Letter 43

And we weren't gaining any ground. We would fight for a hill all day, spend two days or two nights there, then abandon the hill. Then maybe two, three months later, we would have to come back and retake the same piece of territory ... Two or three months later, we went back to the same area to retake it. We lost 20 men the first time saving it, 30 or 40 the next time retaking it. -Harold "Light Bulb" Bryant, US Army

* * *

Uncle Jake,

We hit some bad shit yesterday. Real bad. We're waiting for choppers to come take us out. They're supposed to bring replacements. Hope the gooks don't shoot down any of the choppers. They got one yesterday evening coming in with supplies. It was supposed to evac some casualties on the way out. We lost our machine gunner, Bruce. I just... he was a great guy, funny as hell, good soldier to fight next to. Whatever man replaces him will have big shoes to fill. Another guy in my unit was hit and a few others in the company. Bruce is the only KIA so far.

God, I'm still shaking. Just... horrible. We were walking and the shells just started coming. in. We called arty on them, but they just kept coming. They're entrenched in the surrounding hills. I don't think anything will get them out. They've got tunnels dug everywhere. We rain arty on them, and they just go into their fucking holes. Meanwhile, they've got mortars coming down on us and the only thing we've got is ponchos. Worst of it is, we don't have anyone to fire back at. We're sitting ducks. Last night, though, a probe walked right by me. Scared the crap out of me. I shot him full of holes. I just opened up before I knew what I was doing. I killed a man. But I don't feel anything. I don't feel any remorse. All I though, all I am thinking is that the bastard gook deserved it. He killed my buddy. He wounded guys I know.

There was a small group of NVA that came by early this morning. About three AM, our time. PProbably another probe. No idea why else they would come out of their tunnels. What else would they forsake safety if not to see exactly where we are so they could blow some more of us up? Most of our WIAs have been hit with shrapnel from the mortars. At this point I want the dinks to come and try and kill us. Then they'll get what they deserve. All the men feel like this. We just want to give them some hell, like they've been giving us.

I can hear the choppers coming in.

Love,

John

PS Tell Mom I'm fine. Don't tell her about all this. Same with Bernie. I don't want them to worry.

* * *

KIA- killed in action

WIA- wounded in action


	44. Letter 44

You know, when you get over here all you think about is getting back to the World. But when your time gets near, it sort of scares you because you know in your heart that you're not like the people back home. It's a funny feeling to be afraid to go home, but everyone here feels the same... There are a lot of mixed emotions- worrying about hurting the people close to you, or maybe your dreams about the States will shatter when you get home. And then there's always the way you regret leaving your buddies in this hell hole. We all joke about 'Put your time in,' but in our hearts we wish we could all go home together... -Sgt John "Butch" Hagman

* * *

Uncle Jake,

One of the choppers was shot down coming in with replacements, so we're still out here. On the way out, a couple of the choppers took our casualties out. Luckily, they made it out, but now we've been here two more days. I've only gotten a few hours sleep, no more than five. Food is starting to run out and the reinforcements didn't even come with some more C-ration cans. Problem is, we can't even walk out of here because we're in a valley surrounded by the damn gooks. We've had a few more casualties, but no more enemy probes. It's really frustrating. I just want to get out of here. We all do. We haven't shaved since we left two weeks ago, nor bathed, but rain does wash some of the dirt off. Mostly, we've been lying on our stomachs in the mud, so we're never that clean. The damned NVA has us right where they want us. If we weren't so vulnerable, chances are they wouldn't even think to attack us. Gooks aren't too big on confrontation. It's mainly the booby traps that get us, laid out by Charlie.

You know, back in the World you never think it's going to get this bad, you're never going to see action like this. Now that I'm here and I'm in this... there are times it doesn't feel real. Almost like a bad dream. And then the mortars hit a little too close and death whispers in your ear. Uncle Jake, you told me to believe and I'm been trying, I swear I have. But if I don't make it out of here, if you could continue helping my mom and Bernie out. They need you. I'd rest easier knowing you're there with them. Mom especially. Please, Uncle Jake.

Love,

John


	45. Letter 45

Americans do not like long, inconclusive wars and this is going to be a long, inconclusive war...

And how long do you Americans want to fight ... one year? Two years? Three years? Five years? Ten years? Twenty years? We will be glad to accommodate you. -Pham Van Dong, Prime Minister, North Vietnam

* * *

Johnny,

We got your note. I'm glad you're safe. Bernie's doing better. We went to the doctor yesterday to check his arm. Another two weeks and he can get the cast taken off. He's excited. Something about Danny inviting him to play baseball or something, but he can only watch. I think this whole ordeal will give him pause next time he goes to get himself into a fight, but I can only hope.

I've finally found the perfect cushions for the couch. The old ones didn't math the new lamp and finding new pillows is easier than finding a new lamp. I've had my fill of lamps and bumbling fools in the returns department. Your brother and uncle have been driven mad with my hunt for pillows. I have a feeling that I put Bernie through torture when I took him with me the other day. In fact, thinking about the cushions and lamp matching, I don't think the curtains quite match. Oh, your brother is going to have a fit when I tell him. Maybe Jacob will, too, though I suppose he's used to it, what with being married to a woman like Diana for so long. He only nods and smiles when I ask his opinion on matching cushions. Still, it's a comfort having him around. It's almost like having your father around again. Of course, your father told more jokes, but Jacob is funny, too. Your father was such a wonderful person. When we met here, he was every inch the gentleman. Both of us were still recovering from our ordeals though it had been many months since we were released from the camps.

You know, there are many times I've wondered over that war. If it hadn't happened, if Hitler hadn't been the bastard he was, your father and I would never have met and I never would have had you or Bernie. War is so terrible, but if it brings blessings such as this family I have, I might be able to live with it. Your father isn't around to say this, but I'm sure he's proud of you. You were so strong then, and you have been so strong since then. Boys like you don't deserve to go to war, but your country, my country has called on you and you've gone. You're a brave man and your father and I are proud of you. Never forget that. He might not have told you while he was here and able, but I know he was proud of his sons. He was proud of his family.

Love,

Mom


	46. Letter 46

I've never really thought that I was going to die before, but that night I truly believed I would. It was hell as no civilian and hardly any Marine can imagine. No words can describe it and no one can begin to appreciate it unless he has lived through a similar situation. Firefights and heavy contact are not even in the same league. This is something special. I have never fought so hard in my life. I have never wanted to see dawn break so badly. -Cpl Cottrell Fox

* * *

Uncle Jake,

They finally pulled us out of that hell hole. At least half our company is either wounded or dead. After I wrote to you, there was a lull in the mortaring. We waited a while to see if it had really stopped and then we called it in. Some asshole in the rear told us he wanted the surrounding hills, especially the main one, where most of the fire had been coming from. It was a load of crap, and our captain knew it, but he had to leas us up there anyway. We started up that hill and they let us get about halfway up before taking out machine guns. Oh, it was hell, Uncle Jake. There's not supposed to be such a place, I know, but there's no other way to describe what entailed. David was next to me and we both hit the ground to escape the fire. There was an enemy machine gun about ten yards to our front and a little to the left. We crawled for it and while they were firing the other way, we rose up a bit and killed the three men operating it. Directly behind them was a spider hole so Dave threw a grenade in it. We didn't stick around to see if anyone came out. There was another machine gun directly to the right that was pinning down most of our unit. Dave managed to catch the attention of Billy Johnson and motioned we were going to try to take the gun and not to shoot. A minute later, we were crawling towards the gun. Before we could shoot them, though, one of the gooks noticed us. Dave just opened up and I did, too. There was no other choice. We crawled the rest of the way and some gook stuck his head out of a spider hole nearby. I shot him. It lasted for another couple hours before we pulled back. There were too many of them, but they suffered a lot of losses. Choppers came in quick, I don't know where from, and pulled us out. As we were leaving, a couple planes came down and dropped napalm on the hill we had just fought on. It exploded into flames. I don't see why they didn't do that in the first place, before sending us up there. It was suicide going there. I'd like to meet whatever asshole gave us that order and show him what he did. It was just so senseless. And you know he's never going to come out in the field. No, he's gotta protect his own fat ass.

I haven't gotten a chance to read all the mail from you, Bernie and Mom yet, and I don't think I will until I get some rest. I just wanted to tell you I was finally safe. They're giving us three days rest, no patrols, no guard duty, nothing. I can't wait to get some hot chow. Well, more hot chow I should say. When we finally got back, the cooks made us some food. Guys (those of us left) are collapsing into bed. One guy fell asleep in his food. His buddies brought him back to their tent. I hope I never see anything this bad again. I just want to go home, perhaps more than ever. I heard that they're flying another company in to make sure we don't get hit while we're down and recuperating. That would be low, even for the dinks. I'll sign off now, as this has gone on longer than expected and my cot is calling. I'll catch up on reading later, and responding. Tell Mom I'm fine, same with Bernie.

Love,

John


	47. Letter 47

... In this type of fighting it was almost impossible to know who the enemy was at any one time. Children were suspect, women were suspect. -Douglas Anderson, US Marines

* * *

Bernie,

I'm honored that you feel the need to protect me and my name when I'm not around to do so, but I wish there was a better way. I've seen so many horrible things in the past week that I just want all of it to end. I know it never can, it's just not in human nature, but is it wrong to wish it were all over? It can't be wrong to want peace. Peace can never be wrong, can it?

Forgive me. I lost myself.

I didn't want Uncle Jake to tell you, but our company, and another, was involved in a four day battle. The NVA pinned us in a valley and was mortaring us for most of the time. Last day we charged the hill, lost half our men to either the hospital or the morgue, most were WIA. Bruce (remember I told you about him? Real funny guy) didn't make it. Middle of the first night, mortar hit real close to him and he caught a piece of shrapnel in the torso, and a whole bunch in his arms and legs. He didn't have a chance. But I don't want you to worry, I'm okay and so is Dave. Only lost three other guys from our unit and Doc said they'll probably come back. I've got a couple scratches, as does everyone and I'm a bit sore all over from lying in the mud for half a week and humping with my pack for two weeks. Really though, don't worry. Worst thing is I'm exhausted. And please, don't tell Mom. If I tell her, I want to be the one to tell her. I know it sounds silly and maybe it is, but if she thinks I'm in danger... What I mean is that I just don't want her to worry more than necessary. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?

Your choice to fight Quintin physically and Danny's decision not to doesn't make either of you weak. He doesn't want to fight, some boys don't. I never wanted to fight, not really. Usually, I was on the receiving end, my head in the toilet and various other unpleasant things. There were times I wished I was strong enough to kick the crap out of them, sure. The only times I instigated anything was when anyone said anything about Dad. Listen to me, you are not weak and neither is Danny. You deal with it differently, that's it. You know, thinking about it, when people said things about Dad and I retaliated, I was doing the same thing you've been doing. I was protecting his name because he wasn't here to do it himself. But listen, neither of us is weak for doing so, and Danny isn't either for choosing not to fight. Take my word for it.

No, I don't kill women and children and old men, but I want you to understand something. Over here, everyone looks the same. We've gone through a village and they say "GI numbah one" but at night they put on their black pajamas and set up mines and sit up in trees as snipers. I've never seen one step on a mine working in their fields or rice paddies and they hardly turn their heads when one of us do. There's always the chance of walking into a village and finding a woman guarding a bunch of ammunition or something. Everyone over here is considered the enemy. You can't let yourself get too close to them, or you might be dead. Sometimes, as much as I hope I never have to, the answer is to kill first, ask questions later. It's a horrible way to live, but I rather me than you.

Mom wrote to me and she told me that she was sorry for not talking about Dad. She was afraid of the pain that talking about him might bring. If she's talking about him, maybe she's trying to make up for it. She sounded like she was real upset about the whole thing. Also, she mentioned that she didn't want us to think Dad was a bad Jew because he committed suicide. I think it would be best if you let her talk about it, maybe talk about hat you remember about him. I know it's not much, we were both young, but she needs to be assured that this new decision is right. Maybe it will make her worry less about me, knowing that if I die, she'll have at least tried to correct some of her mistakes.

Anyway, I've gone on long enough. I'll talk to you later. Now I've got to write to Mom and figure out what I'm going to say to her. That should be fun.

Love,

John (aka Flit)


	48. Letter 48

And so, day after day, you had dead Marines, wounded Marines, and nobody to fight back at. In the meantime, you've got guys, you know, you go out, you run a patrol, somebody hits a mine and there's a couple of dead people. And here's Joe the rice farmer out in his field. he just, he don't even stop. He don't even, it's like he didn't even hear the blast. And after awhile, you start thinking, well, these people must know where these mines are. How come they never step on them? They must be, they must be VC. They must be VC sympathizers.

And so, over a relatively short period of time, you begin to treat all Vietnamese as though they are the enemy. If you can't tell, you shoot first and ask questions later. -William Ehrhart, US Marines

* * *

Dear Mom,

I got back yesterday from our company "outting." Thought we were only going to be out for two weeks, but a change in plans made us stay out for another week. Bruce Greenwood, our machine gunner, stepped on a mine. He didn't make it. But don't worry, I'm okay. I'm tired a bit sore, but some sleep and hot chow will cure it. No worries.

I'm glad you had a good time at David's house. It seems like Bernie and Danny are becoming fast friends. Bet you're happy about that, having both boys friends with the Schulman boys. And yes, I' know you're smiling, Mom. But go ahead, keep being proud of yourself. Please, keep writing about things such as buying a new lamp, only to have to go through a lot of trouble to return it. I'm sure if I were in Bernie's shoes or Uncle Jake's, I wouldn't think it so great, but being over here and hearing about it makes it seem like things are actually normal elsewhere. There are actually people in situations where returning an ugly lamp is the most life threatening thing they have to do. It's almost as if the reason I'm over here is to keep life that good at home, even I might not agree with everything we do over here. Maybe if I think about it like that, I'm over here to keep life over there the way it was when I left, it won't be so bad.

For a while now, ever since I started to really understand what Dad's death was doing to our family, I thought that you might not want to talk for that reason. Considering you've been honest with me, I suppose I should return the favor by saying there were times I resented you for not talking about him. I also have to be honest in saying that the few times I started fights, it was because they had said something about Dad. I believed that fighting them would clear Dad's name. In some way, I was protecting him because he wasn't around to do so himself. But saying that, I'm glad you've decided to talk about him. I don't want to make you feel guilty, that's the last thing I want to do, but it was hard on Bernie and me all these years. We both would have loved to hear stories about him, seen pictures of him, especially Bernie. I mean, he was only six, Mom. He, we never got to really know him. Even my eleven years wasn't long enough. All I saw him as was a man who was at work a lot, someone whom I missed when he wasn't around, but at the same time he was Superman, no matter what he did. Stories about him would have built that up, allowed me to know my father after he was dead. But, Mom, don't think for one minute you were wrong. It was a decision you made, a decision you believed to be right. And now you're trying to correct it, to make it better by talking about Dad. Bernie thinks it's great, though he didn't understand the sudden transition. I hope you won't be mad when I tell you that I told Bernie what you told me. I felt he deserved to know of your change of heart. By all means, though, please continue. It's good for the both of us, and maybe you will benefit as well.

Because we've been out so long, they've given us three days to relax. I hope Charlie or the NVA don't decide to try anything these few days. I really want this rest and I'm sure we all need it. Oh, and the package you sent was very much appreciated. All the guys loved it.

Anyway, I'll sign off now.

Love,

John


End file.
